


You Look Like You Need a Drink

by dark_muse_iris



Series: BTS Oneshot Stories [3]
Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Bartender Min Yoongi | Suga, Bartenders, F/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, POV Second Person, Power Play, Reader-Insert, Sexual Harassment, Smut, Tattoos, Walk Into A Bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 22:31:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15034703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dark_muse_iris/pseuds/dark_muse_iris
Summary: After a bad week with the worst luck imaginable, you happen upon a local dive bar run by an attractive young bartender who livens up your evening.Excerpt:“You look like you need a drink, miss.”Your eyelashes lifted toward the young bartender addressing you. Dark hair, long enough to almost reach his coal-colored eyes, paired well with his pale skin and relaxed features. His build was lean but attractive, his confident demeanor quickly easing the present aggravation over your wet clothes. You pressed your hands firmly against the hem of your skirt, gently crossed your ankles, and exhaled a stabilizing breath.“I would really like a martini.”





	You Look Like You Need a Drink

“So you'll have that report ready by Monday, right?”

Glancing up at your boss, you couldn’t help but feel your right eye twitch involuntarily in disdain. He smiled like a sadistic bastard, knowing you were not in a position to refuse, and so he didn't think twice before giving you more project assignments to do for the weekend—with no notice, yet again. You heard your inner voice tell him to fuck off, but then you beheld the image of your student loan bill flashing angrily in your head again and you reminded your inner self that you didn't want to live off sub-par instant ramen so many years after college. You inhaled slowly, summoning your pre-programmed response.

"Yes sir, I can have it ready by Monday."

"Great! Well, have a good weekend, ___!"

He turned on his polished heel and strutted out the doors, on time as always because  _he_ didn't have a boss who gave  _him_  last-minute work on a Friday night. You frowned, eyes wandering over toward your half-eaten lunch, that ever-present sign you weren’t taking care of yourself. On many occasions such as this one, you wished you could go back to being in college when you were less responsible and had more free time. But here you were, "livin’ the dream" with mandatory overtime, sleepless nights consumed by deadlines, and your box wine.  _How did it come to this_ , you lamented as you checked the clock on your computer, eager to end the shift.

*BUZZ*

Your phone vibrated frantically on the laminated cubicle desk, interrupting your thoughts. You glimpsed at the screen to read the text:

> **[7:17] Sunah:**  Hey girl! Sorry this is short notice, but something came up and I won't be able to meet with you to catch up tonight. Rain check?

You huffed, feeling your eye twitch again in irritation, then curtly replied.

> **[7:18] You:**  Sure, ttyl

Your old college roommate, Sunah, who you had been trying to catch up with for six weeks, canceled for the third time in a row.  _What's the point of trying anymore_ , you grumbled to yourself, realizing that you would be spending another Friday evening alone with your  _Golden Girls_  DVD box set. Exhaling a puff of defeated breath, you grabbed the offending stack of project paperwork for the riveting weekend of “why do I still work here” feelings you were sure to experience.

* * *

 

The rain poured indiscriminately over your car’s windshield as you slumped over the steering wheel, meandering home, pissed at everyone. Your highway route home was closed due to construction, forcing you to seek an alternate way home through poorly-lit secondary roads. It was well after eight PM and you couldn’t help but feel jealous of the other drivers who were probably going to enjoy their weekends more than you. Your Fridays always ended up this way: you make plans with friends, get your hopes up, then your friends dash said hopes by canceling at the last minute—not to mention your boss took special care to ruin your plans to sleep in late. You hadn’t even had time to date since you took this exploitative office job…It was truly a hopeless situation…

*HONK, HONK*

Your journey down the rabbit hole of self-pity and resentment was suddenly interrupted by a large utility van barreling in your direction. The sudden fear jolted you back into the present as you swerved sharply into your proper lane.

“Jesus! Nice work ___, ya dumbass!” you screamed at yourself, white-knuckling the steering wheel furiously. “My god, I can’t even drive! I’m going to get myself killed and then who would finish those weekend projects?! Ugh!”

Too amped on adrenaline to continue down the road safely, you pulled the car over on the side of the road to collect your nerves, as your most recent self-help book advised in these moments. It didn’t take long after your cooldown to realize that somehow, during your expedition of self-loathing in the torrential weather, you had missed a turn and were now completely lost. You frantically grabbed your cell to check your GPS signal and, as fate would have it, the weather was too unforgiving to provide a stable enough service to get you home.

“Seriously?” you whined, squeezing your eyes shut in dread as you cursed your phone.  _Great, I don’t even know where I am in all this shit._

You cautiously continued your drive down side roads unfamiliar to you. As the rain continued to barrel down too hard to see properly, you tried your best to glance out the fogging windows in an effort to find some landmark, anything which would feel safe and recognizable at this end of town.  _Nothing_ , you sighed, quickly realizing that you would have to find a place to wait out the storm because you had no idea where you were. As you turned a corner toward what looked like a main road, your eyes made out the flickering neon beer lights of a tucked away dive bar.

 _Min’s? Is that supposed to be “Mini’s”? Is the light out?_  You squinted in a paltry attempt to read the signage through the rain.  _Whatever, they serve alcohol there…I’ll just wait it out and then go home_ , you decided. Resigned to recover in the shelter of the small establishment, you whipped your car into the parking lot, eager for a drink.

* * *

 

The atmosphere of the bar instantly reminded you of the working-class establishments you frequented back home: a bit aged, but jovial, full of cigarette smoke and laughter. Thoughts of your father’s disappointed face at his little girl being in a “working man’s bar” on a Friday night made you feel pangs of home, but you shook it off quickly once you realized you had lingered in the entrance too long. The run from your car to the bar left your business attire in a somewhat drenched state, causing you to shift uncomfortably as you began to adjust your black silk blouse and pencil skirt ensemble.  _At least this isn’t see-through_ , you sighed in relief. You couldn’t help but feel the universe was playing a cruel prank as the chorus of Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” played on the old corner jukebox, mocking your strain of bad luck.

Frustrated at your poor wardrobe choice for a place like this, you plopped down at the first open barstool in a huff, closing your eyes and covering your face with your hands.

“You look like you need a drink, miss.”

Your eyelashes lifted toward the young bartender addressing you. Dark hair, long enough to almost reach his coal-colored eyes, paired well with his pale skin and relaxed features. His build was lean but attractive, his confident demeanor quickly easing the present aggravation over your wet clothes. You pressed your hands firmly against the hem of your skirt, gently crossed your ankles, and exhaled a stabilizing breath.

“I would really like a martini.”

“That’s a little refined for a whiskey bar,” he chuckled, “but luckily for you, I am willing to make an exception for a waterlogged business professional. Here,” he offered, brandishing a clean towel to dry off from the rain. “Will it be gin or vodka this evening?”

“Thank you,” you replied, accepting the towel with a relieved smile. “Gin, please.”

“Ah, a purist,” he beamed with a nod of acceptance. “I’ll have your drink ready soon, miss.”

As you began to wipe the towel over your arms, your gaze shifted to watch in earnest as the young bartender prepared your drink. His gray vest and black rolled-up sleeves were folded trim against his frame, his tattooed forearms moving hastily to locate the shaker from beneath the counter. With eyebrows scrunched together in a determined look, he commenced selecting the gin. His veined hand reached out to grab one, but stilled, hesitant. Looking back in your direction, he paused as your eyes met. You could see he was reading your face, presumably to gauge how bad your day had been, but you only felt the heat rising to your cheeks as you mulled over how carefully he was examining you.

Your expression shifted to a slight frown—partially because you were embarrassed the handsome bartender was serving you so considerably, calling you “miss,” but also because you felt a little irritated at the delay of your impending drink. Upon seeing your face sulk, he quickly flashed his gummy smile at you and selected a more refined brand of gin from a higher shelf, shaking his head and laughing to himself. He strolled back over to you and started the drink’s preparation.

“I can’t tell you how happy I am you didn’t order a goddamned appletini in this bar,” he laughed, pouring the alcohol into the shaker. “But you’re looking at me like I stood you up for a date. Bad day at the office?”

_Oh god, work. Those weekend projects…_

“You could say that. I am making peace with the hand life has dealt me of late,” you replied sarcastically, returning the towel. “My friend stood me up again. And I haven’t had a weekend off in the last six months. Oh, and I got lost in this weather even though I live here, because there’s no cell service, and then I ruined this outfit.”

“This will help, I promise,” he assured, sliding over the martini with a wink and a warm smile. You felt warmth rise to your cheeks again as you see his strong, veined hands withdraw slowly from the edge of the glass. You swallowed hard to force down the fluttering feelings growing in your stomach.

The bartender waited and watched for your approval as you took the first sip. The cool drink hit your tongue and the heat blooming in your chest restored your hope that the night wouldn’t be a complete waste. You closed your eyes in elation, leaned your head back and heaved a sigh to yourself because the drink was  _so damn good_. Flourishing your debit card at the attractive man, you smiled, “Could you please open a tab for me? I’m not going home anytime soon.”

“It would be my pleasure to continue to serve you,” the bartender responded, taking your card. He whipped the towel over his shoulder and turned away from you, toward the register. On impulse, your eyes naturally fell to the tight black fabric clinging flatteringly to his legs.  _Don’t look at his ass…don’t look at his ass...don’t—dammit!!_  You internally screamed at your loins for making you check out the bartender’s ass so early into your first drink and expressly filing away the cosmic image of it for future solo recreation.

“Here you are,” he grinned, handing the card back to you. “Since we’ll be spending some time together as I make your drinks this evening, let me make your acquaintance.”

He offered to take your hand into his and your immediate reflex compelled you to shake his hand a little too forcefully. It was the handshake you often employed with the men in your office who never took you seriously, who you loathed with every fiber of your being, and who practically drove you here in the first place. The sensation of his hand enveloping yours waned, as though he were unsure how to complete the gesture in this situation.

“I’m Min Yoongi. That’s a hell of a handshake you have!” he exclaimed as he was released from your vice grip.

“___. Sorry about the handshake,” you flinched, embarrassed. “I’m so used to shaking hands with assholes at my office that I often leave my more delicate qualities at home.”

He laughed wholeheartedly, making you relax as you returned to your drink, tracing the rim with the olive-filled toothpick. “Min Yoongi…Min…so is this your bar?” you flashed your eyelashes in an attempt to reclaim some of your feminine charms.

“Why, yes it is!” he beamed as he snatched a fresh towel from the edge of the sink and began drying off a large beer mug. “I took over this bar when my father passed. I’ve been running it for a few years now.”

Yoongi proceeded to share the history of the bar with you for the next several minutes, ensnaring you with his alluring, dark eyes and his sweet gummy smile as he told you about all the interesting characters that frequented his establishment. You hung onto every word as the martini helped you drift toward the deep hum of his voice. It wasn’t until a new martini magically appeared before you that you snapped back to reality.

“I made another one for you, sweetheart. As much as I would enjoy continuing our conversation, I have to run to the back to get more change for the other bartenders.”

“Hurry back, Yoongi,” you flirted, raising your glass and nodding your head in camaraderie, treating him with an inviting smile. Admittedly, you were probably smiling too much, but it was difficult to restrain yourself after being weakened by his use of manners and by his tattoos. Amused by your forwardness, he winked to get a rise out of you, feeling far from disappointed as you raised an eyebrow suggestively in response and took another sip. As he turned and walked away, your eyes fell on his body again.  _God, why do those vests look so damn good—_

“Hey, darlin’. You here all by yourself?”

Your daydream about the bartender’s firm shoulders was abruptly interrupted by the sound of an uninvited guest rudely sliding his barstool next to yours, too close for comfort. Cringing at the smell of his breath—bar peanuts and whiskey—and the intrusive feeling of his eyes all over you, you blinked slowly.  _Goddamnit, this is why I don’t go out anymore._ You gathered your thoughts needed to reply firmly, staring straight ahead at nothing.

“Not interested.”

“ _Well_ ,  _well_ , we have a frigid bitch here!” he hollered at the surrounding patrons, making your stomach turn angrily in disgust. You tried to scoot your stool away from him, but his arm held on to the back of your seat as he leaned in and whispered, “I bet I can loosen you up, honey.”

His sickening laughs bellowed throughout the bar as he grabbed his whiskey and returned to his workmates on the far side of the room. You felt enraged at the violation, but breathed a sigh of relief because the intrusion hadn’t escalated further. Resolving to drink your martini without attracting more attention, you tried to calm your alarmed nerves.

“Are you okay, miss?”

“Hm?”

You lifted your face as the sound of Yoongi’s voice. He was in the task of serving several beers to a large group but was reading your expression with a confused look.

“You just—look like something’s bothering you. Was I too forward earlier?”

“Oh no, it’s not that,” you murmured, casting your eyes downward, debating whether it was worth it to be that woman who complained about being harassed. He was probably a regular and there was always that 50/50 chance nothing would be done about it, so you resolved to keep your mouth shut this time.

“I’m just thinking about my work I have this weekend,” you lied.

Yoongi shook his head and scolded playfully, “How about you forget about work and enjoy your night instead? I can have another drink up for you soon if you’d like.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll nurse this one to be safe.”

* * *

 

By the end of the evening, you had finally returned to a relaxed state, thanks to the exquisite bartending skills of one Min Yoongi. You spent the evening hazily, cradled in the warm buzzing of the conversations at the bar and the cool drink in your hand, sending renewed smiles to your bartender each time he made a fresh drink for a patron, displaying his tattooed forearms.

“I think you’re becoming my favorite bartender,” you flirted again, feeling the heated bloom of confidence from earlier drinks return to your cheeks when Yoongi’s eyes met yours.

“I’m glad to hear that. It’s not every day I get the chance to help a beautiful woman de-stress from her hellish work week.” His eyes remained fixed on yours as he wiped down the bar, sending the heat from your face down to your body’s center. “Do you have any good plans for the weekend?”

“Not any fun ones,” you wrinkled your nose, remembering the work waiting in the trunk of your car.

“You should come back and see me then,” he said provocatively as he prepared a round of shots for the far end of the bar.

You grinned at the offer, running your fingertip around the glass’ edge. “I wouldn’t want you to think I was stalking you.”

“I would welcome it,” he smirked, drying his hands with a towel. “You may want to protect your ears, I’m about to give the last call.”

You pressed your hands firmly over your ears and nodded.

“Last call everyone!” Yoongi yelled from the bar in a booming voice, waving his hands to summon any final takers for drinks. Warmed over by his presence and the tapering effects of the alcohol in your system, you remained entranced as you watched him pour drinks, count cash, and bid farewell to his regulars. Witnessing the good-natured exchanges between the customers and the bartender made your heart swell, but you considered your weekend ahead.  _It’s getting late, I should probably think about calling a cab…_

Your wandering thoughts were cut short when you saw Yoongi standing in front of you, awkwardly rubbing his neck.

“Uh, excuse me ___,” he began. “I’m sorry to bring this up and potentially spoil your night, but your card was declined.”

Your stomach dropped as you felt your buzz quickly dissipate. Panic rushed into your mind as you retraced all the possible reasons why your bank account may have been empty. Your eyes darted back and forth along the bar’s surface as you mentally scanned all of your bills and recent purchases, and then the answer hit you like a freight train—student loan automatic payment.

“Son of a bitch!” you cried out in anger, slumping over the bar to bury your face in your folded arms, deeply embarrassed. You let out a deep whine of annoyance—likened to the sound of a dying animal—as adulthood’s shitty responsibilities came into view in your mind. Nothing had a more sobering effect than knowing you were broke as fuck because you went to college.

“Hey, it’s okay ___,” Yoongi patted you on the arm, squeezing it gently. “I’ll tell you what, let me take care of these last few guys, and then we can work this out, okay?”

“Mhm,” you whimpered from your fetal position at the bar as Yoongi returned to close out other customers.

“I’ll pay your tab, darlin’. Then you and I can figure up your repayment later tonight.”

His breath hit your ear and you recoiled in alarm.  _Not this asshole again_ , you grimaced as you turned to see the sleazy suitor you rejected earlier in the evening—Mr. Bar Peanuts and Whiskey.

“Look, I said I wasn’t interested. Now fuck off,” you answered sharply.

“Don’t be like that,” he cooed, making you flinch, your face heating with rage. “I don’t know how else you mean to pay for those drinks. How about you let me take care of your tab, and then you take care of me with that pretty mouth of yours?” His thumb moved toward your lips, compelling you to bat his hand away as you scrambled from your seat to escape his slimy advances.

*WHACK*

A sharp crack resounded throughout the bar and your eyes shot over to see Yoongi, angrily bracing a wooden baseball bat against the bar, glaring threateningly at your unwanted company. The bat looked aged and well-worn from years of use; you wouldn’t be surprised if it was as old as the bar itself. The man yielding it displayed an intimidating expression which was darkening with each passing second.

“Any negotiations of payment for the lady’s tab are between me and the lady. I believe she told you to get lost,” he said in a low tone, sending a chill down your spine.

Yoongi’s eyes narrowed at the man in warning, his hands tensing around the bat as the winding veins of his forearms flexed like he was preparing to take another crack. As transfixed as you were in that moment, seeing the bartender assert his dominance, you couldn’t help but feel the gnawing distraction of arousal building in your core, compelling you to press your legs tightly together as your hands rubbed firmly down the sides of your skirt.

The sleazy customer’s jaw clenched as he considered his options. His eyes scanned over the bartender, sizing him up, but he quickly understood he shouldn’t press his luck when the opponent had a bat in his able hands.

“Hey, I was just tryin’ to help her out,” he slurred drunkenly, raising his arms up to proclaim his feigned innocence. You rolled your eyes at him and huffed out a strained breath.

“I think it’s time you left,” Yoongi put bluntly. “Don’t come back here again.”

“Yea…yea…” the man grunted, waving his hands disappointedly at another evening where he would be leaving empty-handed.

Upon the man leaving the bar, Yoongi quickly turned to you, softening his stance and tucking the bat underneath the bar.

“Was he harassing you earlier, ___?”

You hesitated as his eyes scanned your face for an honest answer. Earlier in the evening, you decided that the man wasn’t worth the trouble of reporting, but now you knew there was no way out of it.

“He tried to pick me up earlier and called me a frigid bitch when you were getting change from the back. I was hoping he would just leave me alone and then I wouldn’t have to bother you with it,” you recounted with a sigh. “Sorry you had to—

“Why are you apologizing? You could have told me that and I would have thrown him out right away. I don’t want some asshole running off my customers, even the cute ones whose cards get declined,” he teased with a chuckle.

A flipping sensation arose in the pit of your stomach, partially from his forwardness and partially at the subtle reminder that you still hadn’t paid him. Your eyes descended to the resting location of the baseball bat. “You fend off patrons with a bat?” you smirked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yep, something about the crack echoing throughout the bar really scares the shit out of people,” he grinned with confidence, “I have other forms of defense here of course, but the bat’s effective enough for most of the folks here.”

“I’ll say,” you laughed.

You settled back in your barstool as you watched Yoongi bid farewell to the final customer, leaving you as the last patron in the bar. The thought of you alone with him after the earlier flirtations you exchanged compelled you to shift your legs again.

“Thank you for your help earlier with that guy. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it, but…” you winced, “I don’t know how I’ll be able to pay you. My damned student loans drained my account and my other credit card is at home.”

“___, after the night you’ve had, I’d feel like a total prick if I made you pay at this point. The drinks are on the house. Think of it as an apology for not throwing out that asshole sooner.”

“I can’t have you do that!” you protested, scooting quickly off your barstool.

“Well, I just did. I can do that when it’s  _my_  bar, you see?” Yoongi quipped with a cocky expression.

Your face pouted as you lost the argument, making him laugh again. “Do you want to do dishes?! It’s really not a problem, ___.”

“I’ll feel bad. You should get paid for those drinks you made.”

“I enjoyed the pleasure of your company, really,” he assured. “Plus, good service makes customers come back. I consider this an investment so you’ll patronize my bar in the future. Now, the storm’s winding down, so your cell should work now. Do you have someone at home who can come pick you up or do I need to call you a cab to get you home safely?”

Pulling out your phone, you scoffed at the three new email notifications from work. You opened your contacts but knew no one was going to answer their phone to pick you up at this hour.  _Overpriced cab fare it is._

“I don’t have anyone at home,” you said with a touch of embarrassment at feeling so single, “so I’ll just call a cab.”

“Here,” Yoongi offered his arm to usher you toward the door. “The signal is better over here.”

As you took his arm, your face cracked a little smile. The low rumble of his laugh informed you that it had not gone by undetected. You felt your legs slow as you approached the door because you don’t want to go home to those damned work projects—and you don’t want to leave the bartender’s company. In your mind, a step closer toward better cell phone service would mean your night would end.

Instinctively, as though he felt your hesitation, Yoongi’s hand moved to the small of your back, making your breath hitch. Your heart began to pick up speed as you glanced at him, only to find that his legs too had stopped moving toward the door, and his eyes were growing darker with each moment you lingered at the entryway.

“You know,” he began, rubbing his thumb against your back gently, “You could always stay and let me save you the cab fare.”

“What are you suggesting exactly?” you lowered your voice as the space between you began to shrink.

He flashed his gummy smile and chuckled darkly, “What I’m suggesting is that I know a good way to pass the time, if you’re interested. Unless I misread your signals earlier tonight. You’ve only had two drinks and it was a while ago, or else I wouldn’t offer.”

You nodded in earnest, feeling the tension snap quickly as Yoongi’s lips collided with yours. The pursuit of pleasure was needy and urgent, with no time wasted as you felt him press his body against yours, his strong hands moving up past your neck to grip your hair with intent. The rapid swell of need surprised you as a soft moan escaped from your throat, giving yourself away.

“Mm, someone needed this, did they?” Yoongi hummed against the shell of your ear, making you shudder. The intensity grew as his teeth tugged at your earlobe, gleaning a half-muffled whine. His lips returned with confidence, his tongue playfully brushing against yours, as his hands wrapped around your waist. You clung desperately to his neck, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. As your fingers moved to interlace in his hair, he growled lowly, advancing to back you up against the wall, no longer able to control the growing erection now pressed to your core. Your chest tightened as you felt your breath escape under his firm control. His hands migrated downward to palm your ass, making you ache with unsated need.

“Yoon—”

“I live upstairs,” Yoongi interrupted.

“Good,” you panted.

* * *

 

The door to the upstairs apartment burst open, violently hitting the adjoining wall as Yoongi decidedly pinned you against the door. The harsh sound that erupted from the collision would have made your thighs clench together, if there hadn’t been a man bracing his own thigh between them already, making your skirt ride up. Hazy with lust, you rested the back of your skull against the door to catch your breath as Yoongi’s open-mouthed kissing continued.

He slowly dragged his teeth from your ear, down your neck, and over your collarbone. The sensation made you moan lowly and grind against his thigh as you tried to find some friction to help you along. Your movement forced him to groan irritably and relocate to his bed. Giggling at his frustration of still being clothed, your eyes darkened as you saw him shrug off his vest. He unbuttoned his shirt with haste, revealing more tattoos on his upper arms and chest. The new view of his toned torso made you salivate, your tongue raking across your teeth with interest. Excited thoughts scattered along in your mind as you imagined how tonight would unfold, but admittedly the idea of bedding the bartender made your hands fumble as you tried to remove your clothes.

Smirking at your struggle to undress, Yoongi grabbed your ankles and dragged you close to him until your legs dangled off the edge of the mattress. His skilled hands made quick work of untucking your silk blouse, but he took his sweet time removing it as he whispered dirty confessions in your ear.

“Do you have any idea how hard I struggled watching you, soaked to the bone, wrap those sweet lips around my drinks?” He tossed your blouse across the room, returning to nibble against the flesh of your neck.

“Probably as hard as I struggled watching you make them,” you replied defiantly, raking your nails over his painted forearms.

He grinned at your answer, and then sharply unzipped your skirt, tugging it down your legs to discover your black garter belt and hosiery underneath. “Tsk, you should have known better than to wear that tight skirt. A looser one would have come off more easily,” he scolded playfully as he hungrily grabbed your thighs, kneading them with his fingers. “God, I wanted to bend you over my bar all night. I would have too, if I had known you were wearing these.” He snapped your garter belt straps against your thighs, making you squeak with anticipation, instantly thanking yourself for wearing thigh-high stockings to work today. “We’re keeping these on. Heels too,” he said, unhooking the straps from your hosiery as his hands moved toward your panties.

Yoongi ran his thumbs along the panties’ edges, pausing to take in the spectacle of his patroness, sprawled on his bed in her lingerie—waiting. His dark orbs scanned your soft form slowly until they rested at the sight of your restless core.

“How may I serve you tonight?” he asked with a smirk, as if he already knew your answer, lowering himself to his knees to prepare for service at the edge of the bed.

You snorted at his use of politeness in this situation. “Are you always this polite with your women? I don’t know if I’ve ever fucked someone so well-mannered.”

Yoongi smiled wickedly before quickly turning over one of your legs and delivering a swift smack to your ass as punishment. The sting made you stop your laughing, but it didn’t dissipate the tensing ache of your clit or the flickering mischief in your watering eyes.

“Yes, I  _am_  always polite,” he growled in a low tone, his fingers digging into your thighs, building your anticipation. “I thought asking permission was preferable to saying that I want to lap my hot tongue over your clit until you forget your name.”

The words falling from his lips summoned a warm pool of arousal between your legs. Amused by his insistence on using manners, you whispered, “You have my permission to proceed as you see fit,” inviting him to continue his plan.

“Thank you,” he responded politely, lowering his head to kiss your clothed sex, summoning a whine from you. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of your panties, then slid them gingerly down your legs, letting the garter straps hang loose and leaving the stockings intact.

“Mm,” he hummed, running his fingertip up your slit, “Wetter than I expected so soon. You must really like those manners.”

“It’s the tattoos and those hands, Jesus…” you confessed, instantly covering your face at your honesty. The tension had built too much for you to filter anymore. Yoongi grinned in satisfaction before throwing your legs over his shoulders and pressing his lips to your core.

His pace was slow, calculative, and deliberate. What Yoongi lacked in speed he made up for in skill, relishing your folds with his tongue like tides rolling in to shore. The initial rhythm was not what you expected, given his haste earlier, but it felt so satisfying that all you could do was press your head back into the mattress, close your eyes, and let his ministrations take hold of you.

After feeling his tongue and lips pull and push against your sensitive spot for several minutes, your breathing accelerated, the tension beginning to coil in your belly. You tilted your head to glance down at Yoongi. His eyes were open and piercing, his forehead crinkled in concentration, as his movement remained relaxed and fluid.  _He’s so focused_ , you thought as the sight made a whimper escape from your mouth. It was embarrassing at how quickly your arousal was mounting under his tongue. His pupils were so black and blown out as he feasted on you that you felt your throat run dry. Your lips parted in bated breath as you watched him slow his tongue to an agonizing crawl, smirking at your suffering. The desperation at being so close to your edge made you cry out and lift your hips in need.

“Please Yoongi…,” you mewled, tears forming in the corners of your eyes as you felt your peak slipping away.

“Mmm,” Yoongi hummed against you, circling his tongue gingerly around your clit, “Does my lady need to come?”

“ _Yes_!” you cried out.

Yoongi chuckled, satisfied with his game of dragging out your pleasure, saying nothing. Instead, he countered by abruptly clutching your hips and burying his face again, this time flattening his tongue and applying hard pressure, fluttering the muscle against your folds at an unrelenting speed. The shift in tactics was too unpredictable, and all you could manage to do was cling to the locks of his black hair as you felt the coil snap at last.

“Yoon—oh god!” Your vision became blurred as you felt your hips buck involuntarily against his face.

“That’s right, baby,” he praised with a husky voice, holding you down and continuing to lap up your release as you descend from your high.

You blinked your eyes slowly as your gaze fell on Yoongi. With a forehead covered with a sheen of sweat, he licked the corner of his mouth to savor the last taste of you. The sight of him relishing the final drop made you clench and whimper at the feeling, your body still sensitive from the onslaught. His pupils remained dilated, boring into the windows of your soul, communicating his depth of attraction.

“Shall we continue, miss?” he asked, wiping his brow.

You glanced down at his waist to find his pants painfully tight, his erection pointing accusingly at you.

“Oh! Where are  _my_  manners?” you cooed, tossing a pillow to the ground at his feet with a soft plop.

“Yea, you shouldn’t make a man wait,” he mocked teasingly.

“I think I can make it up to you, sir,” you purred as you dropped to your knees, staring up at him and batting your eyelashes.

“Fuck—don’t look at me like that, ___,” he grunted, his pants shifting as he crumbled at the sight of you trying to appear innocent.

“This worked up already? I’ve hardly begun,” you smirked, swiftly unzipping his pants and tossing them and his boxers aside. Gripping his dick firmly in your hand, you took control. You twisted your wrist, delicately squeezing him like a plaything.

“How may I serve  _you_  tonight?”

The low whimper that fell from Yoongi’s lips was unmistakable.  _Putty in my hands_ , you thought proudly to yourself. Renewed with self-confidence, you licked a wide stripe on the underside of his length before taking him fully into your mouth.

“Fuck!” Yoongi hissed as he felt you swirl your tongue eagerly around his head, bobbing up and down as you stared knowingly at him, clearly performing a role you enjoyed.

You detected his hands interlacing in your hair as you saw his eyes flicker and roll into the back of his head. Moaning softly, you took him deep into your throat until your nose brushed against his abdomen. His body tried to still itself, but you swallowed hard around him, dragging your nails down the back of his thighs. Yoongi shuddered as he approached his high, panting heavily from how fucked out you made him. Suddenly, as if snapping to reality, he pulled away from your mouth and quickly wrapped his hand around the base of his dick, squeezing tensely. He backed up two feet, glancing down at your beady eyes and swollen lips.

“Damn girl,” he whistled, pinching the bridge of his nose and shutting his eyes, “I almost lost it back there. I thought you were a sweet girl.”

“Making you crumble gives me pleasure,” you said in the most angelic voice you could muster, brushing hair from your face as you stood back up. You planted a hand on your hip as you sauntered toward him.

You saw Yoongi’s face contort in wickedness as he reached in his nightstand drawer to grab a condom. “You’re trouble.”

“Yes, I am,” you agree, taking the foil wrapper from him. Tearing the wrapper with your teeth, you brought your hand to coax his dick again. Gently rubbing your thumb over his head, your voice dropped an octave, “Get on the bed.”

Yoongi inhaled sharply at your order and switch in tactics, but obeyed, lying on the bed as his erection stood to attention. You placed the condom on the tip of his shaft, unrolling it over the head, then wrapped your lips around him again, using your skilled mouth to roll it down his length.

“Goddamn, ___,” Yoongi breathlessly begged. “Please come back to my bar any time.  _Any time_.”

You giggled at how needy he sounded, but you relished the control you had over him. Standing next to the bed, you ran your hand teasingly over his tattooed arm, over his chest, and raked your nails down his abdomen.

“Maybe I will,” you replied nonchalantly, climbing into the bed and swinging your leg over to straddle him. You began to grind slowly against him as you pretended to contemplate his offer. “—or maybe I won’t. You don’t get to decide.”

You watched Yoongi’s face twist as his need to dominate pushed to resurge. He lifted his hands to grab your thighs to push you down on him at last. Predicting his move, you quickly smacked his hands away.

“Tsk tsk tsk, where are your manners?” you scolded him.

His breath rattled in his throat as he remembered his place, lowering his hands slowly. His forehead crinkled in contemplation at this new obstacle your game presented.

“May I please touch you?

“Where? How? Be specific in your request,” you replied curtly.

He swallowed, staring into your eyes as he calculated his best answer.

“May I…grab your thighs when you finally sink down on me and bring me out of my misery? I would very much like to hang on so I can ensure the maximum amount of pleasure for you, miss.”

Your response was swift as you sunk down on him earnestly, making him exhale in relief.

“You may.”

Smiling his gummy smile as if his prayers had been answered, his hands returned to your thighs and squeezed. You unhooked your bra as you began to rock your hips against his flesh, lifting and sinking repeatedly at the pace you preferred. Your hands traveled from his shoulders to his dark hair and tugged lightly, making him squeeze his eyes shut and groan at the feeling. Responding to your touch, he traced his strong fingers up the back of your thighs, rubbing the curve of your ass in approval before clinging onto your waist.

As soon as he grabbed on, he wasted no time before thrusting deeply in time with you. The sensation was sudden, as you expected to remain in complete control, but the sensitivity from your previous orgasm made your ability to resist him all the more impossible. Yoongi panted in gratification, his eyes swimming with primal lust as he continued to pound from underneath you. The anticipation of a subsequent release began to barrel toward your consciousness, your body responding to him by picking up speed.

“Are you trying to take my power away, Min Yoongi?” you accused as you planted your hands possessively on his chest and rode him harder.

“Not me, miss!” he feigned innocence as he dug his fingers into your hips, making clear his intent to eventually disarm you and take back control. Your eyes rolled in pleasure as your head leaned backward. You were getting close, but your thighs were on fire.

“Yoongi—

Upon seeing how your body was starting to weaken in response to him, Yoongi seized the opportunity and swiftly flipped you on your back. You mewled under him as your heaving breasts became putty in his hands. He slowed his thrusts as his touch journeyed down the valley of your breasts, all the way down to your lower lips. The electric pressure made your spine tingle, compelling you to whimper babbling nonsense as you approached your end.

“I know, I know,” he reassured, dealing a hard thrust to your core as his fingers slipped between your folds to find your clit. Rubbing hard circles into you, he continued the unrelenting drive into you until your wails were drowned out by the symphony of the headboard battering against the wall.

“Come for me, baby,” he commanded with a snarl.

The buildup of pleasure shattered at the sound of his voice, making your body clench around him repeatedly as your last orgasm of the night hurled itself into being. You cried out his name and began to thrash as he continued to chase his end. The sight of watching you unravel a second time gave Yoongi the final push he needed to come undone. Sinking his fingers into your thighs as his hips thrust for one final row, he gritted his teeth and panted in sweet release.

He rolled off of you to remove the condom, tying it off and disposing of it. Returning to you, he took his place next to your side, lying back on the surface of the mattress. You were barely able to register his presence as your thighs savored the sweet feeling of freedom.

“I hope you consider seeing me again,” he expressed with a tired voice, breaking the silence. “It would be nice to spend more time with you. I bet you have lots of vacation time saved up since you were eager to stay and let off steam with me tonight.”

His remark made your face brighten as you continued to bask in the afterglow of your evening. Turning your head, you sighed as you observed the relaxed calm of his tattooed chest, rising and falling with each breath.

“I have three weeks saved up, as a matter of fact.”

He hummed a low tone, “So you have time for breakfast then?”


End file.
